Chapter 11
"Stella, we're going to stop over at Mason's," said Dean. "Can we catch up with you in the store?"
"Stop over? You mean, will I come drag you away from the gun collection in Mason's when I'm done." She smiled at the boys. They were close to regulars at Mason's now. It was a hunting and outfitting store and many of the gadgets applied to hunting demons and spirits, too. The boys had purchased just enough to become regulars without seeming too strange—not an easy task given what they did for a living.
Stella sent them on their way, despite the fact that she would have preferred to go to Mason's too, and went into the grocery store. She'd had a yen for steak on the grill tonight and Dean, who was the red-meat king, was all for it. Stella strolled through the produce section with her cart. She picked out peppers, zucchini and onions to grill, and two large tomatoes. She spent a few minutes sorting through the potatoes, looking for the perfect ones to bake: large, uniform in size, and no odd lumps or spots. She also went to the store's bakery and found two other things: some fresh crusty rolls and an apple pie for dessert.
We've all gotten spoiled, she thought as she compared two pies. When we're back on the road, we'll never eat like this unless we got to a nice restaurant. Stella would be the first one to admit, she wasn't much of a cook, but before she died her Momma had taught her how to make a few, simple, rib-sticking recipes. Her Daddy had been the steak man. Having a good grilled steak was a treat and some of Stella's favorite memories of her father were when they were between jobs, cooking some steaks on a grill in some park. Maybe that was why she wanted to have meals like this before the summer ended, to make a few of these memories with Dean.
She pushed her cart down the aisle and towards the butcher. Stella went directly past the chicken and the pork and stopped in front of the case full of beef. She disregarded the sirloin immediately. It was cheaper but it could be dry and tough. She picked up one package with a nice piece of porterhouse in it. Nice marbling and that meant good flavor, plus it was nice and thick. It would take a little longer to grill but again, the thickness would help prevent dryness. As she started to sort through the packages, looking for the best porterhouses, something caught Stella's eye: a man.
He was standing a little down from her at the meat case, looking mostly at the large roast beefs. On the surface he didn't seem out of the ordinary. Average height, about 40 years old. He had a little grey in his hair, but it was the intensity with which he was looking at the meat that made Stella take notice. He was checking the items in the case with an intensity that was unnerving.
Stella picked out three porterhouses, and then added a fourth to the cart because feeding Sam and Dean was sometimes like feeding two tapeworms. They never seemed to have enough. Add that to Dean's love-affair with red meat and it was a guarantee that there wouldn't be enough beef to go around. Throughout this process, Stella kept watching the man and his behavior seemed increasingly odd. Then she took a step down the case and pretended to look over some packages of ground beef so she'd have a reason to continue watching him.
He picked up a roast beef and ran his hands over the plastic covering. It was a gentle, almost loving touch. He stared at the roast, watching the juice run beneath the plastic to escape the pressure of his fingers. Clearly, he was fascinated. He put that one down and picked up another, handling it the same way. This time he brought the roast close to his face; he shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.
Stella grew uneasy; this guy set off all of her hunter alarms.
She reached for one more packet of hamburger and it took all of her effort to not look when she felt him still and turn his attention to her. She gave the packet a quick once over and put it into the cart. Turning her shopping cart, Stella walked past him. He was looking at her and they made brief eye contact. She gave him a polite smile and murmured some random pleasantry as she walked by and went down the next available aisle. As she made the turn, she glanced back. He watched her for a moment and then turned back to the roasts.
Out in the parking lot, Stella made putting the groceries into the back seat of the Impala a short therapy session for her shoulder. She lifted a few of the smaller bags with her weaker arm; it was uncomfortable but not painful. She was getting stronger. It wouldn't be much longer before she could ramp up the intensity of her workouts. She smiled, satisfied with her progress; it wouldn't be long before she'd be hunting again. She slid into the front seat intending to swap the cassette currently in Dean's deck with one she'd picked up at a yard sale: Air Supply's Greatest Hits. But she never made the switch—out of the store came the guy with the roast beef fetish.
She watched him as he walked through the parking lot and pulled out her cell phone. Activating the camera option, she held it up discreetly and clicked a few pictures. They weren't the greatest shots at the distance he was at, but anyone looking at them would be able to have a general idea of what he looked like. Stella slouched down in the front seat, making it harder to tell she was in the car and watched him drive out. He drove a dark green Chevy pick-up truck.
Stella waited in the car for nearly ten minutes, observing the traffic in and out of the parking lot and making sure the green truck didn't return. Once she was convinced he had truly left she went across the street to Mason's to find Sam and Dean. She was not surprised to see both of them examining shotguns and discussing the finer points of buckshot with the department manager. It was nearly suppertime when they got back to the house. Fortunately, despite their clear culinary shortcomings, the Winchester boys at least knew how to grill a steak the right way and while they took care of the grilling, Stella got the deck table set and brought out some cold beers.
Once they sat down to eat, Dean set to his steak like he hadn't eaten in days. After a minute of listening to the unintelligible "happy" noises he was making, Stella paused. She glanced at Sam. He wasn't looking anywhere but his own plate but he was smiling and shaking his head.
"Dean. Dean!"
He froze, fork half-way to his mouth, and looked up.
"I'm glad you like it, but the steak is not going to run away," she said with a laugh. "You can take your time and enjoy it, you know."
He smiled and leaned back, taking a drink of his beer. "It's good steak," he said. But he took a break, taking a minute to put some butter on his baked potato and have another sip of beer.
"So, let me ask you guys something," Stella said. "I saw this guy in the store today, and he kinda got my freaky radar going."
"Your freaky radar?" asked Sam.
"You know, that feeling you get, the one that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck? That feeling that most people ignore but we know better?" She took another bite of her steak.
"What did you see? What made this dude weird?" asked Dean.
"I was picking out the steaks and he was at the other end of the meat case. He was about 40 years old, a little shorter than you, Dean. A bit of grey in his hair—pretty average looking all in all. But it was what he was doing. He was picking up the roast beefs and examining them. No examining is the wrong word, he was practically fondling them."
"He was… fondling… them?" Dean was a little skeeved out by that idea.
"Yea, it was a little gross. He would run his hands over the package and watch the juice move under the pressure of his fingers. And he sniffed it like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever gotten a whiff of…"
"What did his skin and eyes look like?" asked Sam.
"Normal," said Stella after thinking for minute. "He was a bit pale but nothing unusual. And I didn't really see his eyes, but from what I could see, nothing was out of the ordinary. Why?"
Sam looked at his brother. "Sounds like the start of a rugaru transformation to me," he said.
"Great," said Dean. "The last one was so much fun." He took another bite of steak.
"A rugaru? You guys have handled one before? I've only ever heard about them," said Stella.
"We crossed paths with another hunter—guy named Travis, actually—and he was hunting a rugaru. He told us that the rugaru 'gene' runs in families. He'd killed the father but couldn't bring himself to kill a little boy when he didn't know if he was going to turn or not. But once he'd grown up, the kid started showing signs of the transformation and that's why Travis was after him."
"For a good part of their lives," added Dean, "a rugaru looks like a normal person, but at some point, he becomes consumed by hunger. During this part of the transformation a rugaru will feed on any meat it can get, but it will have a growing compulsion to feed on human flesh."
"Wonderful," said Stella. "That's encouraging."
"It is the human flesh that turns them," said Sam. "One bite of human flesh and the rugaru will transform inwardly and outwardly. The skin will get rough and nasty looking and the eyes will get severely bloodshot and look red, especially around the rims. Once that happens it can never go back and it will never stop killing."
"How do you stop one?" asked Stella.
"Only way is to set it on fire," said Dean. "You've got to burn it to death or it will keep on killing." It struck Stella how simple and matter-of-fact Dean's answer was. They truly did lead strange lives.
"There's a problem," said Sam.
"A problem? What kind of problem?" Stella didn't like problems.
"Travis told us that rugarus only operate on base instinct, but he was wrong. The one we hunted could still communicate even in the final stage of his transformation. He understood what was going on and he tried to resist the change. He failed, but he tried." Sam sighed heavily. He'd burned Jack Montgomery, the rugaru, to death in order to save Dean from becoming the creature's second meal of the evening.
"What did Travis think of your discovery," asked Stella.
"He didn't," said Dean. "The rugaru transformed when he killed Travis. And ate part of him."
"Lovely." Stella took a long drink of her beer.
"Why don't we head back into town tomorrow, Dean." Sam was looking thoughtful. "Maybe we can find this guy and check him out. And if we need to, we can talk to him."
"And that went so well last time," growled Dean.
"We have to at least try," Sam countered. "We can't just torch the guy because he MIGHT do something."
While the boys argued, Stella gathered up some of the dirty dishes and brought them into the kitchen. Still arguing, Sam and Dean brought the rest in and put them in the sink. By the time Stella brought the pie out to the table, they boys had come to an agreement about what to do the following day when they went to investigate the potential rugaru. And Dean had agreed to talk to this guy—if needed—before he set anything on fire.
Stella rotated her shoulder. She'd gone quite a while without her sling and she was a little sore. She didn't mention her desire to go with them on their recon run; she didn't want to get that argument started.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here's the next chapter. Hope you like where the story is starting to go. Just to refresh: the whole idea of Supernatural belongs to others; I don't own any of it and this story is written just for my own enjoyment (and the enjoyment of anyone who might stumble across it on ). Stella is my own creation, though, and my contribution to the expanding realm of Supernatural.
Thank you to everyone who is reading the story, especially those who are repeat readers. And welcome to any new readers I have picked up along the way. I appreciate you taking the time to read my story and I'd love to get your feedback if you are so inclined…